


Crawling Lessons

by FanchonMoreau



Category: Holby City
Genre: Elinor Lives, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9612968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanchonMoreau/pseuds/FanchonMoreau
Summary: When it comes down to it, Bernie knows so very little about Elinor.The first six months after the accident. Elinor Lives AU.





	1. January

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elinor lives AU and by that I mean, this is the canon I've constructed for myself because I've flatly rejected the one the show's presented.
> 
> I've done a fair bit of research on traumatic brain injury, but I am not a doctor. The medicine here is sketchy at best and flatly wrong at worst. Void where prohibited, see store for details.
> 
> Gratitude to ktlsyrtis for the beta. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Feel free to imagine Archie Panjabi playing Ms. Jindal because I have :D

There’s absolutely no time to spare.

When the consultant neurologist arrives, she confirms that Ellie’s right pupil is fixed and dilated, and tells Bernie and Serena they’re going to skip the CT and get Ellie prepped for theatre.

“We know what side it’s on, so we know where to drill the burr hole,” she says. “And we’ll just get the rest of it cleared out when we do the craniotomy.”

Serena’s eyes are flashing but she doesn’t argue. The neurologist, Ms. Jindal, is a locum and as far as Bernie knows Serena has no opinion on her. And the only thing she's heard Serena say about the consulting neurosurgeon who’ll be doing the surgery is that his coffee order is needlessly complicated and he’s not Guy Self.

It’s not quite trust, but it’s better than the alternative.

“All right,” Bernie says. “Where is she on the Glasgow Coma Scale?”

“Six as of last evaluation, which was five minutes ago,” Ms. Jindal responds, clear and even. She’s remaining professional even though she’s treating the daughter of one of the most respected consultant surgeons in the whole hospital. Bernie decides that she likes her.

“Officially a coma, then,” says Serena. Her voice cracks.

Bernie runs a hand between Serena’s shoulder blades. She’s hyper-aware of how tense Serena’s body is, and she knows that even this gesture will do nothing to ease it. Still, she sets a rhythm on her upper back. Tries to ground her.

It’s no use. Serena’s shaking, and she feels so very far away. 

“Nothing to do but operate,” Bernie says. “Ms. Campbell and I will observe.”

A craniotomy is a messy procedure. They cut off large swaths of Ellie’s hair so they can peel away a portion of her skull. The surgeon then scrapes the bleed off the brain and into a metal bowl.

There’s so much blood. She’s used to seeing blood, she’s hands deep in it on any given shift, but this makes her stomach turn. It’s just... when you think of terrible things happening to your kids, or at least when Bernie does, it’s always gruesome, immediate. A car wreck. A bomb detonated on a public transport system in another country. When Cam used drugs, Bernie was plagued with pictures of him overdosing, drowning in his own vomit.

You don’t think it could be something insidious like this. Ellie was perfectly conscious for _hours_ , while this bleed was slowly killing her. And they had absolutely no idea. It’s not a danger you can prepare yourself for, not until it’s too late. 

Not until you’re completely defenseless against it.

They keep their eyes trained on the neurosurgeon as he works. They see that the bleed is at the back of Ellie’s head, close to the brainstem, and they know that’s not a good sign. Bernie reaches for Serena’s hand, and Serena squeezes their fingers together tight.

The surgeon has started sewing Ellie’s head back up when Morven bursts into observational suite. She’s winded, she’s been running.

She has Ellie’s bag draped over her shoulder.

Serena lets go of Bernie’s hand. “Morven, is now really the time?” she asks, quiet and raspy.

Morven nods vigorously. “It’s the only time.” She hoists Ellie’s bag off her shoulder and pulls out a few of its contents, which she gives to Bernie to hold. A wallet, a tube of lipstick, a small hairbrush. 

A plastic bag of white powder. A bottle of pills.

Serena snatches the drugs from Bernie. She doesn’t open them; she just turns them over and over again in her hands.

Morven acknowledges Serena with a quick glance, and then she turns to Bernie. “You get a tox screen?” 

Bernie shakes her head. “We didn’t even get a CT. There was no time.”

“Right, that’s what I thought.” Morven says. “So the label on the pill bottle is diazepam, but there’s more than one type of pill in there. Most people who mix benzos with something else mix them with opioids, like oxy or methadone. I’m thinking if she just crashed her car, and maybe had taken whatever’s in that plastic bag earlier and then had to talk to the police, she’d probably want to calm down. Benzos and opioids are both good for that. And if you have both…”

“You’d take both,” Bernie finishes. Serena drops the pill bottle and its contents spill out over the floor. She curses softly and scrambles to pick them all up.

“No, Serena, let me,” Bernie says, and she immediately drops to the floor. She gathers the pills, two kinds, just as Morven said, into the bottle. She reaches for Serena’s hand and covers it with her own.

Serena narrows her eyes. Bernie can see she doesn’t want to be coddled. 

She meets Serena’s gaze, and laces their fingers together. _You don’t have to be strong for this_ , she tries to say with her eyes. _It’s okay._  

“I’m thinking the drugs might be interfering with her GCS Score,” Morven says from somewhere above them. Bernie reminds herself to focus. “Can’t really tell what’s from the injury and what’s from the drugs if they’re both a factor.”

Serena sighs. Bernie searches her face and guesses at what she’s thinking: that Morven’s theory really only works if Elinor had taken a large amount of the drugs.

They have no way of knowing how much or how little Ellie took, not until they do a tox screen. They have no idea of her drug habits at all. 

Bernie looks up at Morven. “You’re thinking of giving her Naloxone?”

“It could make a difference,” Morven says. “It could make a huge difference drug use notwithstanding. There was a study done in 2014 that concluded Naloxone decreased mortality in traumatic brain injury patients in a statistically significant way.”

“Just the one study?” Serena’s voice is so pointed that Morven flinches. It was the word _mortality,_ Bernie thinks. Everyone knows that there is a good chance Elinor will die, but Morven’s been the first one to say it out loud.

Bernie knows she should prepare herself for the possibility of Elinor’s death. But she finds that she _can’t._ There is no part of her that can fathom something that terrible happening to Serena.

She pushes herself off the floor and offers her hand to Serena. Serena takes it.

“Ms. Jindal is the presiding neurologist,” Bernie says. Serena’s standing now, the pill bottle clutched in her hand. “Page her and tell her everything you just told us. She’ll make the call about the Naloxone.”

“Yes, Ms. Wolfe,” Morven says with a nod. She goes to leave the observation suite, but she stops just at the door. She turns around abruptly.

“If either of you need anything, I’m just a page away. Doesn’t matter how little.”

Serena doesn’t even seem to register Morven’s words. She’s gone back to turning the pill bottle in her hand. The bag of powder, Bernie notices, is nowhere to be seen. Serena must have pocketed it at some point. 

They both will need to be confiscated, but for now that can wait.

“That’s very kind of you, Morven,” Bernie says. “Thank you. Do let us know what Ms. Jindal says.” 

Morven rushes out. Serena lets out a loud huff of frustration and shoves the pill bottle into Bernie’s hand. 

“Read the prescribing doctor,” Serena says. 

Bernie glances down at the bottle. Edward Campbell.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Serena grits out. “I’m going to… fucking…”

And then she breaks down.

Bernie puts her arm around Serena, and she burrows her head into Bernie’s shoulder. She wails, and Bernie’s thin cotton scrubs do nothing to muffle the sound.

She holds Serena for the rest of the procedure. Serena doesn’t look up, can’t look up, can’t bear to. So it’s Bernie who watches over Elinor through the glass.

* * *

After the operation, they do a full work-up on Ellie. They get a CT, a tox screen, they set up machines to monitor the intracranial pressure along with the ventilator and the feeding tube.

When they’re done, there are tubes coming out of Elinor from every which way. She looks like something out of a nightmare.

The tox screen comes back positive for both benzodiazepine and oxycodone. Ms. Jindal has a nurse administer the Naloxone before they get the results of the second screen, which will tell them just how much of the drugs are in Ellie’s bloodstream.

“Your F2 was bang on,” Ms. Jindal says. “The Naloxone can only help.”

Her GCS is reevaluated, and it’s still six, with no pupillary response to light. Serena turns white at that news, but Ms. Jindal is there with a few gentle reminders: her intracranial pressure is dropping steadily, and her eyes are responding to pain, which means the corneal reflex is present. She’s not brain dead. At this juncture, she is just as likely to improve as she is to deteriorate.

It’s a practical optimism. Serena’s curt nod betrays little, but Bernie can tell she appreciates it. 

Serena excuses herself; she needs to call Edward. Bernie sits in the chair opposite Ellie and eyes her stats. No change.

“I’ll tell you what I think of the Chilcot report if you wake up,” she tries.

The ventilator hums. 

Bernie knows so little about Elinor. Only what Serena has told her, really. That she’s talented, stubborn, has a selfish streak but cares deeply about justice on a large scale. That she spent so much time and energy canvassing for the Remain campaign that Serena felt compelled to remind her, via text, to eat, sleep, and shower. 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you two butt heads,” Serena had said, not long before Christmas. “She’s very opinionated. But I think she’ll grow to respect you, in time.” 

So Bernie was shocked to hear that Ellie had taken the news of her relationship with Serena badly. And she was dismayed when the Ellie she met at Christmas was sulky, standoffish, and just downright rude to her and her children.

Cam was able to laugh through the worst of Ellie’s snickering and eye-rolling, but it got under Charlotte’s skin, Bernie could tell. Charlotte never talks about what bothers her, she just lets it happen until she decides she can tolerate no more of it.

That’s what she had done with Bernie, anyway.

Charlotte had been very polite at Christmas. She’d complimented Serena’s cooking and swapped Doctor Who theories with Jason. But Bernie could feel Charlotte’s anger radiate from every tight smile and forced laugh. And she knew, as soon as her daughter’s car drove away from Serena’s house, that the effort she’d made over the past few weeks had been lost. 

It was hard, after that, to not resent Ellie a little. 

She _absolutely_ wants Ellie to be all right. But what if she doesn’t want it _enough?_ What if she feels the wrong things, reacts the wrong way? What if Serena tries to depend on her and she’s not up to the task?

God, what if she lets Serena down?

A nurse comes in to change Ellie’s catheter, so Bernie gives them some privacy, and maybe take a moment to gather her thoughts. But soon she steps out into the hall, she hears Serena bellowing from some unknown place in the ITU.

“THEN SEND HER TO A PSYCHIATRIST, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

Bernie follows the sound of Serena’s voice and finds her pacing frantically outside the ITU’s public restrooms. She’s screaming into the phone and her whole body is shaking.

“OF COURSE IT MATTERS WHERE SHE GOT IT FROM! A PSYCHIATRIST KNOWS THE SIGNS OF RECREATIONAL USE! YOU JUST WRITE HER A BLANK CHECK AND SWAN OFF!”

She doesn’t dare touch Serena because she’s not sure how she will react. She does step into her line of sight and mouth _I’m here_ so Serena knows. Serena reaches for Bernie’s hand and grips it so tightly that her fingers start to go numb. 

“I would get here as soon as you can, if I were you.” Serena hisses into the phone. “Because we’ll be evaluating her for brain death soon enough, and if it comes to it, I’d imagine you’d want to be there when we turn off the machines. To say goodbye to your daughter.” 

That must have shut Edward up, because she hangs up the phone soon after. Bernie takes the phone and sets it down on a nearby plastic chair. She opens her arms for Serena.

Serena collapses into them.

Bernie kisses Serena’s forehead, over and over again. Serena smells good, and she feels silly for breathing her in, for taking some comfort in that. It’s backwards, it’s not the way it’s supposed to go.

None of this is the way it’s supposed to go.

Bernie has no idea how much time passes. They stand in the middle of the hall, embracing, until Serena’s pager goes off. 

It’s Ms. Jindal. There’s news.

* * *

“Pupillary response,” Ms. Jindal says. She’s tapping a small torch excitedly in her hand. “Nurse Cox noticed it. Her pupils are both the same size now, and they both react to light. It’s very subtle, but it’s measurable. Here, take a look.”

She guides them both to Elinor’s bedside and opens one of Elinor’s eyes. Shines the light right in. Ellie’s pupil retracts in a way that’s slight but absolutely noticeable.

“Do it again,” Serena says.

The result is the same the second time. 

Serena sets her mouth on a thin, hard line. She is trying, as hard as she can, to be inscrutable.  She is trying not to have too much hope.

“Other eye,” Serena says.

Ms. Jindal shines the light in Ellie’s other eye, and it, too, retracts. Bernie picks up a folder with Ellie’s name and sees that someone has recorded the exact measurements of Ellie’s eye dilations. She hands the folder to Serena.

“It’s good news,” Bernie says.

Ms. Jindal smiles awkwardly at the two of them and then pockets her torch. “Nurse Cox mentioned that it’s possible there was pupillary response immediately after surgery but we weren’t using a strong enough light.”

“That’s quite a long shot,” Serena mutters. 

“That’s fair,” Ms. Jindal concedes. “But it’s undeniable now. And we still have a corneal reflex. We’ll send her in for another CT as soon as possible. Obviously we will keep a close eye on her and keep evaluating that pupillary reflex. I’ll page you when we’re done with the CT.”

Bernie thanks Ms. Jindal and starts to lead Serena from the room, but Serena doesn’t want to go. Bernie rubs her back and reminds her that Ellie needs to go for a CT and it might be a good time to catch a very small nap in the on-call room. 

But it’s less than twenty minutes before the pager goes off again. They go Ellie’s room to find that Ms. Jindal is absolutely ecstatic.

Bernie shakes her head in confusion. “What’s this?”

“Eye opening to sound,” Ms. Jindal says, just barely able to get the words out. “Twice, just now. I thought, Ms. Campbell, that you might like to talk to her to see if you can replicate the response.” 

Ms. Jindal extends her hand, inviting Serena to stand next to Ellie. She walks to her bedside and leans in close to Ellie’s ear. 

“Elinor, it’s mum.” It’s just a whisper. Nothing happens. Serena clears her throat and tries again, much louder. “Ellie? It’s mum.”

Elinor opens her eyes, and then closes them.

Ms. Jindal beams. Bernie leans in and kisses Serena on the cheek, and then turns her head so she can kiss her on the lips. She doesn’t care at all that Ms. Jindal is watching, and Ms. Jindal, to her credit, doesn’t react.

“We still have to get the CT,” Ms. Jindal says. “But it’s good, good news.” 

Ms. Jindal and one of her nurses roll Ellie away. Serena watches, stunned.

“It could change her prognosis,” Bernie says quietly.

Serena sniffs, lowers her head. Speaks to the floor. “Recovery can stop at any time. She could be in limbo for months. Or indefinitely.”

“She could,” Bernie agrees. “But she’s not yet.”

Bernie can’t tell if it helps, but she supposes it’s better than nothing. 

After the CT, Ms. Jindal informs them that Ellie has been officially upgraded from coma to vegetative state. 

“If you want to go home, this might be a good time,” Ms. Jindal starts carefully. “It’s unlikely she’ll deteriorate so soon after such a marked improvement.” 

“What, and leave her alone?” Serena snaps.

Ms. Jindal steps back, chastised. Serena pulls a plastic chair very close to Ellie’s bed, entangles her fingers with her daughter’s.

She is trying to project strength, but Bernie can see that Serena is so, so tired. She steals Serena’s phone from her purse and texts Edward for an updated ETA. He says he won’t be long now. Bernie rolls her eyes and puts the phone back.

It’s an hour later when Edward and Liberty do arrive. Serena doesn’t have the energy to argue with him, so she just says _be there for her this time_ and lets Bernie lead her to the on call room. 

They brush their teeth in silence. Getting clean scrubs feels like too much effort, so they collapse into bed in what they’re wearing.

They face each other in the narrow bed. Bernie holds Serena as close as she can and says, “I’m here whatever happens. You know that, right?” 

Serena’s breath hitches. “I do.”

“I love you so much.”

It’s not the first time Bernie’s said it. But it never comes as easily to her as it does to Serena, who says it when she leaves in the morning, and when she comes home at night, before sex and during and after and right before they go to sleep.

Just as easy as breathing.

Serena moves her hand away from Bernie’s hip and runs her fingers over the buttons on her pager. It’s quiet. No news. 

“I know,” Serena says. “I know.”

* * *

The next few days are surreal. Bernie tends to the ward and checks in on Jason (recovering nicely, will be able to come home soon) while Serena spends long hours at Ellie’s bedside. She talks to her, reads her websites, magazines, books. She has Bernie fetch several _Eloise at the Plaza_ books from Ellie’s bedroom, since they were Ellie’s favourite growing up.

They determine that it’s safe to take Ellie off the ventilator. When they do, she starts groaning intermittently. Serena knows it’s not in reaction to anything, but she talks back to Ellie’s noises anyway.

Ellie will groan, and Serena will say _yes, darling, quite_ without missing a beat.

Bernie finds it endearing, until she realizes that it may never get any better than this.

Bernie tries not to spend time around Serena and Ellie when she’s on shift. She mans the red phone. She overschedules herself in theatre. She keeps herself focused.

Morven, however, makes it difficult.

“D’you reckon the Naloxone helped, then?” she asks, lingering in the door of Bernie and Serena’s shared office. “It sounds like if her intracranial pressure didn’t decrease as quickly as it did, there would have been damage to the brainstem.”

“I don’t know, Dr. Digby,” Bernie says, and sighs. “I, for one, wouldn’t discount the craniotomy’s role in decreasing the intracranial pressure.”

“Fair dos. But the timing with the pupillary response was a bit suspect, don’t you think? Usually fixed pupils or a fixed pupil right after surgery predicts mortality in extradural haemorrhage patients, so to have it clear up some time after the surgery…” 

“ _Morven_ ,” Bernie cuts in. “I doubt we’ll ever know exactly how Ellie got out of that coma. It could be the surgery, could be the Naloxone, could be that Ms. Jindal didn’t waste time with a CT when she knew the situation was dire. Truth is she’s not out of the woods yet, so unless you have a thought that can actively help her current care, probably best to keep your theories to yourself.” 

“Right,” Morven mutters. She scratches at the back of her neck. “Sorry.”

Bernie grabs a patient’s file and gets ready to head back into the ward. “It’s interesting research to pursue, in a more general sense. The effect of Naloxone on traumatic brain injury patients. If you want to talk to Ms. Jindal about pulling some records, for a start…” 

Morven’s face breaks into a smile. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I will. Thanks.”

Bernie tries not to smirk as she watches Morven return to her patients. She lets herself imagine a future in which she and Serena pass on the keys to AAU to Morven and Cam, and the thought calms her. For a moment. 

Then her pager goes off. It’s Serena.

Bernie tosses her patient file back on her desk and rushes to the ITU.

“She’s squeezed my hand,” Serena says, blinking back tears. “Look. Ellie, squeeze if you can hear me.”

Ellie’s hand tightens around Serena’s.

Serena gives Ellie more simple commands, and the results vary. But the hand squeeze remains mostly consistent, if limited to her left side. Ms. Jindal comes in and says that Ellie’s now minimally conscious and her GCS is 12 out of 15.

Bernie and Serena are at Ellie’s bedside all night. Serena has hope now; she’s not even pretending otherwise. And that, Bernie thinks, could be the most dangerous thing.

* * *

Jason comes home ten days after the accident. Serena is loathe to leave Elinor but Edward and Liberty have promised to cover the day between them. Bernie’s on shift and has no desire to have more contact with Edward than absolutely necessary, so she avoids the ITU.

But she does stop by at the end of the day. She’s surprised to find Ellie alone, even though Serena had said Liberty would be there in the evening. She quickly pulls up a chair.

“Hi, Ellie,” she says. “I’m sorry it just seems to be me right now.” She reaches out and folds her hand into Ellie’s. “Squeeze if you can hear.”

Ellie does.

Bernie withdraws her hand and slouches back in her chair. “I don’t have magazines or anything to read. And I know we didn’t quite get along so I’m not sure…” 

“Mmmmmrggggghhhh,” Ellie groans.

Bernie chuckles. “I know, me too. But I want us to be able to, um…”

“Mmmmmmmmm,” Ellie groans again, or maybe it’s more of a hum. Bernie leans into the sound and sees that Ellie’s eyes are open and have started moving from side to side. Not like REM sleep eye movement but more like… 

“Ellie?” Bernie prompts gently. She grabs a small torch from a drawer near Ellie’s bed and goes to shine it in Ellie’s eyes when Ellie suddenly jolts back. 

“Mum?” Ellie croaks. Her mouth can only barely form the words. She’s agitated; she’s trying to move more than her body will allow. She jerks once, twice, and then she looks right at Bernie. “Mum?”

Bernie has no idea what Ellie remembers, or even if she knows where or who she is. She can ask her these questions. She can do a basic neurological examination, and she _should_.

“It’s all right, Ellie,” she says instead. “It’s all right.”

Ellie doesn’t react badly to hearing her name, so that’s a good sign. Bernie hits the room’s call button and a nurse is there within seconds to tend to Ellie and calm her down. And do that neurological examination.

Bernie leaves the room and immediately texts Serena: _Ellie’s conscious. Get here now._

She’s making to dial Serena when she gets a text back. _On my way. Tell her I’m on my way._

Serena’s there in ten minutes, half of her usual commute time. 

“Nurse says she remembers who she is, but doesn’t remember the accident,” Bernie tells Serena just as Serena enters the building. Serena nods, but doesn’t so much as look at Bernie. She’s focused straight ahead.

She rushes into Ellie’s room and takes her daughter into her arms.

“Mum?” Ellie asks weakly.

“Shh, shhh,” Serena soothes. “I’m here now. It’s all right, darling. It’s going to be all right.”

Bernie watches from the corner of the room. Ellie looks so much like Serena: the cleft chin, the full cheeks, the shining eyes, that it hurts to look at them.

This isn’t her place. She can’t get between them.

Bernie goes to duck out of the room, but Serena turns her head at just the right moment and catches Bernie’s eye.

 _Thank you_ , Serena mouths.

Bernie can’t find anything to say to Serena that even starts to convey the gravity of what she’s feeling. There’s not a vocabulary for it. Even the word _love_ doesn’t seem to contain it.

So Bernie just nods and runs out. And when she reaches the end of the hallway, she collapses against the wall. Sinks to the floor. Begins to weep, silently, into her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my city for plastering ads for Naloxone on every single bus! It was like being reminded to write this fic in real time.


	2. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note on the last chapter: it was only possible because the whole fandom poured its heart into finding ways for Ellie to live even when she'd been declared braindead. We had so much hope! 
> 
> Super thanks to [MatildaSwan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan) for the beta on this chapter.

Ellie comes home from the hospital on Valentine’s Day.

Bernie wakes early. She drives to M&S and buys three tins of luxury chocolates, cards each for Jason, Serena, and Elinor, and a fluffy red bathrobe that she sees on sale and rather thinks Jason will fancy. It will make him look smart on days he doesn’t have enough energy to change into his clothes. 

The recovery from surgery has utterly wrecked his established routines. Not long after he had come home, Bernie had stayed up all night with him and created a system where he ranked his days based on how he felt when he woke up. There are five levels: High Energy 1, High Energy 2, Mid-Energy, Low Energy 1, Low Energy 2. Each level has a different routine and Jason tracks it all on a spreadsheet which he goes over with his doctor at every follow up appointment. 

It’s working well so far. Knock wood. 

She fills out the cards while sitting in her car. On Ellie’s she just writes _Welcome home_ because there’s nothing else to say, really. On Jason’s she draws a sloppy graph with an upward trendline and writes _I love you in a way that is statistically significant_. It’s become something of a joke between them, since Jason periodically emails Bernie his recovery excel sheet to ask her opinion on the statistical significance of his findings. 

And on Serena’s, well, she stares at the blank inside for a long time. Eventually scrawls I MORE THAN LIKE YOU, FOREVER XX BERNIE in comically large print on the inside. It feels like so much less than Serena deserves, but it’s not nothing. It’s what she’s got right now. 

All the energy that didn’t go to keeping AAU afloat went to preparing for Ellie’s return. She hauled Ellie’s mattress from Ellie’s childhood room to Edward’s old study on the ground floor so Ellie, who is still weak on her left side, wouldn’t have to climb up stairs. She oversaw the contractors as they installed bars in all of the showers and baths. And she carried the sofa to the far edge of the sitting room so that Ellie would have lots of space to maneuver with her walker and cane. And every night she crawled into bed with Serena and lulled her to sleep with promises that Elinor is going to be just fine. 

She’s been Low Energy 2 for a full week now, she reckons. 

She comes home to find Jason sprawled out on the sofa with a teacup in his hand. He’s got the newspaper open to the crossword which he’s filling out in pen. 

“Auntie Serena’s picking up Ellie at the hospital,” he says. “According to the timeline she laid out this morning, they’ll be home in approximately 5.2 minutes.” 

Bernie drops the chocolates and the cards on the coffee table, and she hands the folded bathrobe to Jason. “S’not wrapped,” she says, and then looks away. “But, erm, happy Valentine’s. And there are cards here as well, for you and for, erm, Ellie.” 

“And Auntie Serena,” Jason adds--a statement, not a question. He takes his time unfolding the robe and evaluating it. He shoves his hands into the pockets to test their depth. 

Eventually, he nods. “Satisfactory.” He opens the card and smiles. “And this joke is very satisfactory. Thank you, Bernie. And chocolates as well?” 

“Yep,” Bernie says, shoving her hands in her own pockets and rocking slightly on the balls of her feet. She’s buzzing, suddenly, and she recognizes the exhausted adrenaline from her days in the field. But it’s not as welcome now. 

It reminds her of Ellie, sleep-deprived and high, chattering excitedly about her article on the morning of the accident. 

“Technically they’re for your Auntie Serena,” she says, barely dislodging the words from her throat, “but I’m sure she’ll share with you and Ellie if you ask.”

Jason picks one of the chocolate tins up and inspects the label. “It doesn't say here what kind of chocolates these are. You know that Auntie Serena and I prefer milk but I don't know about Cousin Ellie. I suppose you can ask when they arrive.” He checks his watch. “2.3 minutes now.” 

Bernie draws her lips into a thin line. “I'm not sure your auntie meant for you to take her timeline--” The doorbell rings. 

“They’re early,” Jason says.

Bernie opens the front door to find Serena and Elinor stood on the porch, with Elinor leaning heavily on her mum. “We’re getting a proper railing put in soon,” Serena tells Ellie. “But Bernie can give you a lift for now.” 

“I can do it,” snaps Ellie.

Bernie stands there with her arms awkwardly outstretched. Ellie hasn’t said more than three words to her since she got out of her coma, and Bernie knows better than to push it. But it makes it difficult, sometimes, to understand exactly what Serena was trying to rebuild with Ellie.

Serena’s told her that Ellie remembers her, even if Ellie’s memories of Christmas come and go. She remembers her, and she remembers who she is to Serena.

“We don’t think you can’t,” Bernie says. “We’d just rather you be careful.”

Ellie grimaces, and then she slouches further into Serena’s side. “You can carry me?”

She’s so thin, thinner than she was before the accident. Her hair is plaited on one side; on the other side she is bald and her craniotomy scar is red and inflamed. Bernie tries to see past it and smile for Elinor.

“Easily,” she says, holding out her arms. Ellie leans forward, and Bernie scoops her up and carries her into the sitting area. Jason is still sitting in his armchair with his newspaper and his tea.

“Hi, Cousin Ellie,” he says. 

It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the accident. They’ve spoken on the phone a few times, but Jason was never quite strong enough to make it the hospital. And Serena wasn’t sure she really wanted him visiting Ellie there. 

“Hi, Jason,” she replies. Bernie puts her down on her feet and she stands, a bit unsteadily, in front of Jason. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you,” Jason says. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Ellie says, as if he’d paid her a compliment. She turns her head and smirks at Serena, and Bernie wonders, not for first time, what’s passed between them. “Are you feeling all right?” 

Jason sighs. He folds up the last of his newspaper and sets it on the coffee table. “I’ve been better. But I’m glad you’re okay. And I want you to know that I still like you, even though you hit me with your car.” 

Ellie smiles, the first true one that Bernie has seen since before the accident. “I like you, too, Jason. And I’m sorry. I never meant to… to...”

Serena had said that Ellie sometimes loses words, but Bernie can’t tell if she’s struggling to find the word for _hurt_ or if she’s just too overcome to finish her thought. Bernie’s fairly sure that Ellie still doesn’t remember the accident, and Bernie can’t imagine how that must feel. Being told that you did something terrible, but never being able to see it clearly. Coming up blank over and over again.

“You’re forgiven,” Jason says with a shrug, as if it’s just that easy. And perhaps it is. “Would you like a chocolate? Bernie bought them for Auntie Serena, but she says we can have them as long as Auntie Serena doesn’t mind.” 

Bernie glances at Serena. She’s ready to apologize for being so fantastically stupid about Valentine’s Day, but she stops herself when she sees that Serena is just barely holding back tears.

Her children are okay, and they’re home.

“You two can have the whole thing, if you like.” Serena’s voice is heavy with all of the effort it’s taking not to cry. Bernie feels it like weight in her own chest. 

Ellie shakes her head. “I’m just… really tired. I want to....” 

“Sleep, yes, yes, no problem,” Serena says. She smiles but her eyes are still damp. “We’ve set your things up in your father’s old study, so you don’t have to use the stairs. And I’m not saying you need it, but would you like a shoulder?” Serena moves to wrap her arm around her daughter. 

“All right,” Ellie says softly, and collapses into her. 

Bernie watches them make their way to the study. There’s a bond there, a strong one, but she doesn’t know what she can do to help Serena salvage it. She fears that, if anything, she’s going to get in its way. 

Serena doesn't come back to the sitting room after she sees Ellie to the study. Bernie gives her about half an hour before grabbing one of the tins of chocolates and her card and padding upstairs to look for her. 

Serena’s curled in a ball on Ellie’s childhood bed, in Ellie's childhood room. Now that she’s met Ellie, Bernie thinks doesn't think the room suits her at all: bright yellow walls, clean, white furniture, trinkets and picture frames all in a row. It must have looked so different when she really lived here.

The futon mattress that's now in Ellie's bed frame is thin and sagging under Serena’s weight. Serena’s arms are wrapped around a small, pink throw pillow and Bernie can see her body trembling with quiet sobs. 

“Serena?” 

Serena shifts to her side and sniffles. Bernie can see that her hair is mussed and her face is tracked with tears. Serena had said once, it must have been after Arthur died, that she was a messy crier, ugly even. Bernie thinks she looks so very lovely. 

She approaches her slowly. “Make room for me on the bed?” 

Serena nods and moves over. Bernie lies next to her and places the tin of chocolates and the card between them.

“Happy Valentine’s,” she says softly. 

Serena manages an unconvincing smile. “I’d forgotten.” 

Bernie shrugs, pries the tin open. “Rubbish holiday, really. Good excuse for chocolate, though.” She pushes the chocolates closer to Serena. 

But Serena doesn't react. She stares at the ceiling, and then at the picture in a frame on Ellie's nightstand. Her and Ellie and Edward. “It's such a long road ahead,” she says. 

“Well,” Bernie starts, “I bought a lot of chocolate.” 

Serena’s turns to Bernie and her mouth drops open. She gawps like that for a long moment. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, she begins to _giggle._

“You're…” she sputters, and she makes a tiny, pleased sound that Bernie can't place but loves right away. “You’re _ridiculous._ Thank you.” She puts the chocolate aside and opens the card.

I MORE THAN LIKE YOU, FOREVER XX BERNIE

She closes it as soon as she reads it and presses it to her heart. 

Bernie can’t contain her smile. She is ecstatic, overwhelmed, constantly in disbelief that Serena feels this way about her. That there is space for her in Serena’s capacious heart, and that there might still be space for her when the worst of this has passed.

Bernie kisses her. She kisses her for as long as Serena lets her. 

Eventually they part, and Bernie leads Serena back to her own bedroom. They stay there for the rest of the day, eating chocolate and watching rubbish tv and knowing that Ellie and Jason are just below them, safe as they’ll ever be.

* * *

Ellie sleeps for three days straight. Serena nearly loses her mind with worry.

“I know the doctors say sleep’s what's best for her, but it can't be healthy to sleep this much.” Serena’s pacing in the bedroom, her favourite red silk robe wrapped around her but tantalizingly loose at the top. Bernie feels stupid and adolescent, lying in Serena’ bed and shamelessly ogling her, but she’s tired from her shift and she misses Serena on the ward. The locums are incompetent, Raf’s still on Keller, and Morven spends most of her time corralling the F1s. 

She doesn't want to dismiss Serena’s fears, but god, she wants Serena to come to bed.

“Elinor’s making a beautiful recovery by anyone’s standards,” Bernie points out. “She has almost all of her mental facilities, and Ms. Jindal said she could be as high as a five on the Glasgow Outcome Scale. That’s negligible to nonexistent disability, Serena. If she needs to sleep to keep that up, then let her.”

Serena sighs heavily and sits on the bed. “Confusion and short term memory loss. Continued weakness in the left side, and continued trouble with writing and typing, which is less than ideal when one wants to be a journalist. Not to mention losing words. And you know and I know that as much as Ms. Jindal is trying to be optimistic, there’s no way to predict how much of the damage will be permanent.”

Bernie reaches out and rubs a cautious hand on Serena’s upper back. “It’s barely been a month,” she says. “And Ellie’s brain is resilient, that much is clear. She’s made a lot of progress in such a small amount of time, and there’s no reason to think that will stop, so long as she’s careful.”

“Yes, because being careful is one of Ellie’s strong suits,” Serena says, biting into the words. She shrugs Bernie’s hand off her shoulder. 

Ah. This isn’t a conversation about Ellie’s recovery. Not from the brain injury.

Bernie scoots up the bed and swings her legs around so she’s sitting right next to Serena, so her bare knee is brushing the silk of Serena’s robe. “You want to talk to her about the drug use.” 

“I…” Serena starts, and then looks at her hands. “I spoke to Ric about it, once Ellie was settled on the neurology ward. I entertained the idea of some kind of inpatient help because it was a _not insignificant_ amount of benzodiazepine and oxycodone they found in her system. But Ric reminded me that rehab facilities aren’t equipped to deal with traumatic brain injuries.” 

“The nurses on neurology knew about the drugs,” Bernie cuts in gently. “She likely went through the worst of her withdrawal already.” 

Serena scoffs. “If she was in withdrawal, there was no way to tell. The symptoms from her brain injury are, conveniently for her, identical to drug withdrawal symptoms. I suppose it doesn’t _really_ matter because she’s got a fantastic neurologist and a fantastic psychiatrist and they both know her history. But I just...” 

Serena goes quiet. Bernie leans in to meet Serena’s eyes, and then glances down at her own shoulder in silent invitation. Serena offers her a shaky smile and lets her head fall there. 

“The last thing I want,” she says, soft and pained, “is for Ellie to get out the other side of this and start right back in with the drugs again.” 

Bernie nuzzles her nose in Serena’s hair. There’s something she could say here, she thinks, about how she’s been through something similar with Cam. It was, after all, Cam’s drinking and drug use that caused him to drop out of medical school the first time. 

But the truth is Bernie wasn’t really there for that. She was between tours, home just long enough to fight with Cam and Marcus about it, and then right back to the army. And to Alex.

She doesn’t feel equipped to help Serena, not really, but she can’t just say nothing.

“With the right help, that won’t happen,” Bernie settles on. It sounds much more confident than it feels. 

She feels Serena smile against her neck. “I know,” Serena says. “I booked her an intake with an outpatient clinic. Four days from now. Unfortunately, I do need her awake so she can go. And so I can, well, so I can tell her about it.”

“Right,” Bernie mutters. She flicks her gaze up to the ceiling. “Marcus and I, we… I mean when Cam was struggling… I… we... really cocked it up with him.”

“Tell me,” Serena whispers.

Bernie takes a deep breath. She’s not sure she can find the right words, but she knows she has to try. “I didn’t want to give Cam a choice, but … um...Marcus didn’t want to force him into rehab. And my opinion was hardly the final word, because I had to go back on tour. Next thing I know, Marcus is frantically trying to get hold of me on Skype because Cam’s too drunk or too high to go to class. And then he’d dropped out.” 

Serena picks her head up from Bernie’s shoulder. Her eyes are sharp now, determined. “We’re not going to make that mistake.” 

 _We_. This is their decision to make now, not just Serena’s. And Serena trusts her with it, even though she’s known Ellie for less than two months and she’s failed so terribly with her own kids. 

And then, without warning, she remembers:

 _I’d love to know the right way to bring the kids up._  

_There isn’t one._

Serena doesn’t think she’s a failure at all. Never did.

“We won’t,” Bernie says. She takes Serena’s hand and laces their fingers together. “We won’t.”

* * *

They agree that Serena needs to confront Ellie, and soon. Bernie assumes that Serena will let her know how it went as soon as it’s finished.

She’s not expecting to come home at the end of a long shift to find Serena and Elinor at opposite sides of the sitting room, bellowing at each other. 

“I _hope_ that this is the brain damage talking and _not_ you, because I absolutely, wholeheartedly _refuse_ to accept that this is something you BELIEVE,” Serena yells, “let _alone_ something you would say to my face.”

“Oh, so is that how it’s going to be, then?” Ellie shoots back. “I say one thing that you don’t want to hear and suddenly it’s oh, don’t mind her, it’s just the _brain damage!_ ”

Bernie stands frozen in the entryway of the house. The two of them are so wrapped up in their argument that neither of them have noticed her come in. Ellie’s on the far side of the room; she’s still too weak to move without her cane, but she’s upright and looking somewhat formidable with her white silk pyjamas and what’s left of her hair piled on top of her head.

Serena is fully turned toward Ellie so Bernie can't see her face. But she's dug her heels into the carpet and she's trembling. Bernie’s fought with Serena, but she doesn't think she's fought with Serena _like this._

“So if I understand this correctly,” Serena hisses, voice pitched dangerously low, “you are claiming that _your_ cocaine use is _my fault.”_

Bernie almost drops the takeaway she's brought when she hears that. She'd thought Ellie to be rude and selfish, but she wouldn't have guessed that she could be this cruel to her mother. 

Bernie wants to step in. She ought to do something, _anything_ to intervene, because Ellie shouldn't get away with talking to her mother that way. But the sheer force of Elinor’s anger keeps Bernie rooted to the spot.

“How else was I supposed to do everything you wanted?” Ellie shouts. “Get a… a first at university and have a job when I’ve finished and do something that you deemed _worthwhile_ with my life! You never thought my film and theatre was worthwhile, did you? And I was never really the brilliant daughter you wanted, was I?”

“Oh, don’t be _absurd!”_ Serena shouts back.

Ellie barrels on as if she hadn’t heard her. “And I can’t do all of this _and_ sleep at night, there aren’t enough hours in the day and I’m not…” Ellie takes a huge, halting breath and pushes forward. “I’m not smart enough to do it all on my own! I'm not you! So I needed some help!”

“AND I COULD HAVE HELPED YOU!” 

A shocked silence. Ellie leans forward heavily on her cane, and it makes her look small, like the child she is. She looks down at the floor and scoffs. “How? How could you have helped me?” 

Serena takes a step forward and crosses her arms. The energy arounds her softens, and Bernie can feel her shift, feel her become the caretaker. So easily. Like it’s nothing. “You think I don’t know what you’re going through?” she asks, quiet and pointed. “You think I--”

“Oh, don’t start.” Ellie snaps. Her mother’s care hasn’t registered at all. “No, you don’t know what I’m going through. And it’s taken me _almost dying_ for you to start taking an interest in what’s even going on with me!”

Serena tenses again. Whatever olive branch she might have extended Ellie before is gone now. “What can I possibly do when _you won’t talk to me!”_ she shouts. “You almost never call, you barely even text! You don't live with me and I'm not _psychic_ , so how on Earth can I know what's going on with you, or that you're struggling! You don't tell me anything!”

“Oh, that is _fucking rich,”_ Ellie spits out. “I don't tell _you_ anything! But you not telling me I not only had a cousin but that he was _living in our house_ was what, fine? And not mentioning you’ve started shagging _her_ ,” Elinor gestures vaguely to Bernie. “Not until it’s serious enough to invite her whole family for Christmas?”

Serena turns around sees Bernie standing by the door. Bernie didn’t even realize Ellie had seen her, but she thinks now that Ellie was just waiting for right moment to bring her to Serena’s attention.

Not a bad strategy from someone who suffered a massive brain haemorrhage just over a month ago. Bernie will give her that.

“H-How long have you been standing there?” Serena blurts out. She’s unbalanced, rocking on her heels and eying Bernie sheepishly, as if Bernie's caught her doing something terribly wrong. As if she’s somehow to blame for the row, or what led to it.

Bernie can’t possibly judge her. She thinks this is so much healthier than the silent standoffs that have defined her relationship with Charlotte.

 _You’re okay,_ Bernie tells her with her eyes. _You’re golden._

“Five minutes, tops,” Bernie assures her. “I, um,” she lifts the takeaway bags up. “I brought food? Chinese for us but fish and chips for Jason, we could get it setup before it gets cold?”

Serena nods in understanding: she is being offered an out. She glances at Ellie, still fuming on the other side of the room, and steps forward to take one of the bags. “Jason will be wanting dinner in exactly,” she checks her watch, “twenty-eight minutes. We’ll need to heat it up anyway. But the rest…” She leads Bernie through the sitting room, past Ellie, and into the kitchen. “We can continue this later,” she tells Ellie.

Ellie spins unsteadily, with help from her cane, and yells after them. “Continue this later? No, we’ll continue this now!”

Bernie hoists the takeaway bags onto the kitchen counter and starts to unpack them. “Think of it this way,” she says to Ellie. “Break for dinner, corral your energy, make stronger arguments in round two.”

Ellie’s eyeroll is more pronounced and dramatic than anything Bernie has seen from Charlotte, and that’s quite a feat. “That is such bullshit. There won’t be any round two. Because otherwise you’d have to actually talk to me about things that directly concern me, and we wouldn’t want that!”

“What do you think we’re doing now?” Serena huffs. She’s started opening cabinets, grabbing plates and cups, and slamming them down on the kitchen counter.

“Stalling!” Ellie shouts. 

Serena puts down the plate she’s holding. Takes a deep breath. And then she turns around so she’s looking out into the sitting room and facing Ellie. “Fine,” she says. There’s a low rumble of anger in her voice, but there’s resolve, too. She’s ready to really talk to Elinor now 

“I couldn’t see a way,” she starts, and then glances nervously at Bernie. Bernie flashes her what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “I couldn’t see a way to tell you about Bernie sooner without completely humiliating myself. Because it didn’t happen the way it happened with Robbie or any of the others. I didn’t date her. I didn’t even know I liked her until she became all I could think about. I was so... out of my depth with how I felt about her, and the last thing I wanted was to put that all on you. You have enough to think about without dealing with…”

Serena trails off. Bernie reaches out and places her hand over Serena’s. She knows that Ellie can see them, can and probably will judge them, but she decides she doesn’t care and leans in to kiss Serena on the cheek. She can feel Serena’s mouth pull into a smile.

“That’s the problem,” says Ellie, breaking the moment. “You don’t trust me with anything that you’re struggling with. So why should I trust you with what I’m struggling with?”

Serena sighs heavily. “Because this isn’t a two-way street.”

“Why on Earth not?”

Serena scoffs. It’s a dry, mirthless sound, and Bernie knows she’s thinking about what it was like to come out to Elinor. She’d tried to drive out to Cambridge to talk in person, but between Elinor’s exams and AAU’s ridiculous schedule, she couldn’t make it work. So she’d locked herself in the study and told Elinor over a call on Skype. 

She’d come out crying. Bernie held her as she recounted how Elinor had reacted. _So you’re sleeping with her? For how long? Is she gay? Are you gay? How long have you been gay? Is it serious? Is she moving in with you? Isn’t that what lesbians do? Is she moving in and are you just telling me now? Why didn’t you tell me?_

“Because you’re not mature enough to handle it,” Serena says.

“Says who?”

Serena groans and rolls her eyes almost as impressively as Elinor. “You called my relationship a bizarre sapphic mid-life crisis!” 

Elinor’s face falls. She takes a moment to search for what she wants to say; she did so well for so long in this argument that Bernie had almost forgotten that she’s still recovering from a brain injury.

“I don’t remember that,” Ellie says softly. “I really don’t. But if I did do that, it’s only because I didn’t know what else it could be. Because y _ou don’t tell me anything.”_

“God, we’re going around in circles, aren’t we,” Serena mutters to the ceiling.

“We don’t have to,” Ellie counters, with desperate urgency. Bernie can see now that her eyes are red and brimming with tears. “Just… what do I need to do to be part of your life, Mum? What isn’t enough for you? What about me do I need to change?”

Serena’s whole body deflates. “Oh, Ellie,” she breathes. “Nothing. _Nothing._ You were always enough.”

Ellie’s lip trembles. “Was I?” she asks. It occurs to Bernie that Ellie is really asking, that she really feels this way about herself. That under all of that nastiness and bluster is a girl who isn’t sure if she’s worthy of love. 

Bernie might know the feeling.

“You were,” Serena repeats. She takes a step closer to Ellie. “You _are_.”

“Forget it,” Ellie says, a tiny, exhausted wisp of a sound. Serena opens her mouth to say something but Ellie cuts her off with a sigh. “I’m going back to sleep.”

Bernie grabs Serena’s hand to stop her from going after Ellie. They watch helplessly as Ellie hobbles back to the study and shuts the door behind her. 

Serena busies herself with setting the table and fussing over getting Jason’s dinner the exact right temperature. She is as concentrated and methodical as ever, but every few moments Bernie catches her staring at the study door, willing Ellie to come back out.

* * *

Bernie wakes up the next morning with Elinor and Serena’s fight still echoing in her ears. 

_What isn't enough for you?_

Not even Cam confronted her like that, she thinks blearily. With him, it was always sarcastic barbs that stung far longer than Bernie ever let on. And then with Charlotte it was always silence.

She groans. It’s four thirty and she’s up for a six am shift. A month and a half into Serena’s leave and she's still not completely used to running AAU without her.

She rolls over and realizes Serena’s not in bed with her. She clambers out of bed and pads to the bathroom. The light’s not on. When she knocks on the door, there’s no answer.

She freezes. If there was an emergency, Serena would wake her, right? Unless there was no time, and she needed to take Ellie to the hospital right away. If Ellie’d had a seizure, or if she’d fallen and, god forbid, hit her head. Or if it was _Jason_. She fumbles in the dark to find her phone only to press the button and see Serena’s lock screen.

A picture of Serena and Ellie, Ellie can’t be older than ten. The two of them wearing matching wide-brimmed hats with ridiculously big ribbons. Serena’s smirking, and Ellie’s looking at her like she put the sun in the sky.

Bernie hits the button again and the picture fades away.

The phone means Serena’s in the house. And there’s a muffled sound, maybe from a television, coming from downstairs. It’s probably just Serena, then, unable to sleep and watching the American courtroom drama she’s been into lately. The Good Woman, or something.

Bernie tiptoes downstairs and sees not one but two people sitting on the couch. In front of them are the remains of the entire refrigerator: tonight’s Chinese, everything’s Serena’s cooked in the past week, and what appears to be two pints of ice cream.

“She got hungry. Well, I was watching the television and she wanted something to eat and now here we are,” says Serena. Ellie is resting her head on her mother’s shoulder and cradling a third pint of ice cream. She acknowledges Bernie with a small smile.

“Glad you’ve got an appetite,” Bernie says to Ellie. “Are you two watching anything good?”

Ellie’s smile widens. “It’s the documentary on Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds. You need to see Carrie Fisher’s house, it’s _insane._ ”

Bernie knows Carrie Fisher was Leia in Star Wars, but she can’t for the life of her put Debbie Reynolds’ name to a face. Serena must see her struggling because she chuckles and says, “Debbie Reynolds starred in _Singin’ in the Rain_ , which I’m sure even you’ve seen. Carrie Fisher is her daughter.”

“Was,” Ellie corrects quietly. She jabs her spoon at what’s left of her ice cream. “They both died in December.” 

Bernie nods. Jason had requested they do a short prayer for Carrie Fisher’s health at Christmas, and he was inconsolable after she’d died. He’d locked himself up with his Star Wars DVDs and only came out to shower and eat.

“Right,” Bernie says. “So what about the house?”

Serena beckons her to the couch. “You really have to see it to believe it. She had a player piano in the bathroom, you know, as one does, as well as a life-size Princess Leia sex doll.”

“Apparently with an anatomically correct vagina,” Ellie chirps. “And the whole house has like, Prozac decorations and crazy signs that say like, ‘Ass Juice’ and a collection of child portraits that look like Kevin Spacey.”

Serena furrows her brow and turns her head toward Ellie. “They don’t all look like Kevin Spacey. Wasn’t one Shia LaBeouf?" 

Ellie lights up. “The child prostitute!”

They both laugh. Bernie stands behind the sofa and nods along as if she understands any of this. The tv screen doesn’t show a house, just two women riding together in a limo. She recognizes one as Carrie Fisher, so the other one, the older woman in a gold dress, must be Debbie Reynolds. Carrie puts her hand over Debbie’s as Debbie struggles to answer one of the interviewer’s questions. Bernie frowns. It reminds her of how Serena described her conversations with Ellie during her hospitalization. 

“I want a sign that says ‘Ass Juice’ in our house,” Ellie tells Serena. “Can we redecorate?”

“As much as I’d love that, I doubt it would go over well with Jason.” Serena says. “How about this? When you finish whatever course of treatment that the intake counselor recommends, I’ll let you buy a sign that says ‘Ass Juice.’ Or whatever inappropriate thing you like.”

Ellie pouts, but she considers it. “And if I don’t like rehab?” she asks. 

“If you don’t like the counselor, we’ll find you another,” Serena says. “But you are getting professional help for this whether you like it or not. I won’t stand by while you completely destroy yourself. Not this time.”

“Fine,” Ellie mutters. “But you need tell me about Jason’s…” She pauses, wracks her brain for the word. “Shit. Starts with ‘r’...”

“Recovery,” Serena supplies. “And I will.”

Ellie nods, and then she glances up at Bernie. “And you’ll tell me about what’s happening between the two of you?”

Serena locks eyes with Bernie, and then with Elinor. “I will.” 

There’s a tense silence as Ellie thinks it over. Bernie moves a tentative hand to Serena’s shoulder, and Serena covers it with her own. 

“All right,” Ellie says. “But we get an ‘Ass Juice’ sign, and we put it in the kitchen. Near the blender.”

Serena snorts. “Done.”

Bernie pats Serena’s shoulder and then slowly moves away. It’s nearly five and she needs to get showered and changed if she wants to get in on time. She leaves Ellie and Serena picking at the last of the food as their documentary starts to wrap up. 

Serena makes it look _easy_ , Bernie thinks as she steps into the shower. She’s not naive enough to think that everything’s all patched up between Serena and Ellie, but Serena got Ellie to listen, which is far more than Bernie’s been able to do with her kids. Maybe it’s just that Serena’s love is so much bigger than Ellie’s stubbornness and her stupidity. Than her illness and her addiction.

Bernie worries, not for the first time, that she just doesn’t have that kind of love for her kids.

Serena and Ellie are still on the sofa when Bernie comes back downstairs. Serena’s starting to clear away the food and Elinor is fully lying down and near sleep. The documentary is over and the screen reads: _In Memorium Carrie Fisher Debbie Reynolds._

“So when did Debbie Reynolds die?” Bernie asks. She pours some cereal and some coffee Serena must have set to brew last night. 

“December 28, I think?” answers Ellie, pulling her head up from one of the couch pillows. “Like thirty-six hours after Carrie.” 

Serena dumps some of the dishes into the sink and goes back to the sitting room to pick up more. “Said she wanted to be with Carrie,” she says. Then she looks pointedly at Elinor. “You know, if you had died, I wouldn’t have lasted that long.”

Ellie’s eyes widen as she takes in the immensity of what her mother’s saying. She shakes her head quickly, as if trying to dispel it. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be okay.”

“No,” Serena says, stern and sure. No room for argument. “You going back to sleep now, darling?”

“Yes,” Ellie grunts. “No. Don’t want to move.”

Bernie puts down her breakfast and crosses to the sofa. “I can carry you to bed if you’d like.”

Ellie sighs theatrically. “You know, I’m going to move on my own soon. Probably sooner than either of you think.”

“Yes, yes, and you’ll be insufferable about it, I’m sure,” Serena quips. “Until then, no harm in letting Bernie carry you. If she can carry me…”

“Ugh, don’t tell me that, mum, it’s weird,” Ellie says, and wrinkles her nose. Bernie catches Serena’s eye and sees that she’s absolutely glowing, loving the back-and-forth with her daughter. Bernie can’t help but grin, but it feels strangely hollow.

Bernie gives Ellie a few moments to collect herself, and then she scoops her up and carries her to the study. Even after consuming an entire refrigerator of food, Ellie is almost comically light. She sets her down gently on the makeshift bed they’ve made for her out of the study futon.

Bernie doesn’t say anything. She just makes sure Ellie has the pillows fluffed and the blankets pulled up to her chin, and then she goes to turn the light out and shut the door.

“Wait,” Ellie calls. Bernie turns in the doorway. “D’you think she meant it? The thing about, you know, me dying?”

Bernie taps her fingers on doorframe. She’s almost certain Serena did mean it, but she’s not sure it’s her conversation to have. “I think you need to ask her,” she says slowly. “But your mother’s not one to lie.”

Ellie wraps the blankets tight around her body. “All right,” she says. “Good night, um, sorry… I know your name, I do, it’s just…”

“Bernie. It’s Bernie.”

Ellie smiles in recognition and relief. “Of course. Good night, Bernie.”

Bernie knows better than to take it personally, but she can’t stop herself from wondering if this is how it’s going to be from now on. Serena and Ellie on one side, her on the other, and no way to bridge the gap.

“Good night, Ellie,” Bernie says, and she shuts the door softly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In loving memory of Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds. Please watch Bright Lights.


End file.
